Dead Wrong Read online

  “Bought Monika’s present yet? Because if you haven’t, you’re leaving it very late. If you don’t get a move on, it’ll have to be flowers after all, and she’ll know, she’ll see right through you.”

  Calladine coughed. She had him there. He’d forgotten all about it — again. This damned romance business was too difficult. He had a job to do, and it didn’t leave time to go bloody shopping.

  “Doc Hoyle has something. I’ll give him a ring.” He retreated into his office.

  He couldn’t keep doing this, letting Monika down — not really caring. She was a problem he didn’t want to face right now, but he’d have to come clean at some point. He’d get that present, he’d take her out, and once he’d got on top of this case and it wasn’t her birthday, he’d speak to her properly.

  “Doc, what’ve you got?”

  “I’ve run some initial toxicology tests and got a whole mishmash of results. Both young men were full of Lorazepam. In large doses it’s a sedative and can, in sufficient quantity, induce coma. But there were traces of other drugs too, and they are more perplexing.”

  “How do you mean? What did you find?”

  “Risedronate for a start. I didn’t expect that, it’s usually prescribed for women suffering from osteoporosis. It would have no sedative effect at all. There was also Tramadol, a strong morphine-based painkiller, and then there was the real mystery.”

  There was a pause. Calladine could picture the man studying his notes and adjusting his reading spectacles.

  “Aricept, Tom. A rather expensive drug used in the treatment of Alzheimer’s.”

  “Is it a sedative?”

  “No, not at all. The only two sedatives would be the Lorazepam and the Tramadol, and they are commonly prescribed by GPs.”

  “So why the other two then?”

  “I can’t even hazard a guess. Nor can I suggest where your murderer got the drugs from. Commonly used or not, they’re all only issued on prescription. Unless, of course, they were bought online. But that still doesn’t explain the choice.”

  “Thanks, Doc. Anything on the time of death, or how they died?”

  “Difficult, but they’ve both been frozen at some time.” He cleared his throat. “Unpalatable as it sounds, they were cut up and frozen in the plastic bags that were found around the scene.”

  “Method?”

  “Stabbing, blow to the head, drugged . . . Given the state of the bodies it could be anything; so take your pick. I did find very fine slivers of metal from the implement used for the dismemberment. I’ve got Julian looking at them, so he may be able to tell you what was used.”

  “Good work. If anything else comes to light, let me know straight away.”

  Calladine went back into the incident room and wrote the names of the drugs on the board. This was something they could get their teeth into. It shouldn’t take long to get a list of local people who’d been prescribed this little lot.

  “Gather round folks! Before we call it a day, I’ve got something for you all to think about.” He tapped the board. “Take a good look at this list of drugs. I want to know who, when and why. Speak to the local GP surgery. I’m told Lorazepam and Tramadol have a sedative effect but the other two . . .” He shook his head. “Doc Hoyle has no idea why our man would use them. That could be to our advantage. The Aricept is expensive and used to treat Alzheimer’s. That might give us something.”

  “Does that mean we’re looking for some off-his-head OAP?” Rocco smiled. “Looks like that from the list.”

  A ripple of laughter went around the room, until they caught sight of Calladine’s unsmiling countenance.

  “We’re two days in, and no closer. I know this isn’t drugs-related, so no turf war.”

  “How can you be sure, sir?” Dodgy asked. “Those drugs, it’s the kind of thing a stupid kid, who knew no better, would dish out. It might be a case of the more pills he gets down them the better, regardless of what they are.”

  That would explain the strange concoction of drugs, but Calladine had spoken to Fallon. So it wasn’t that simple. Whatever the reason for the pills, it wasn’t about some kid using anything he could get his hands on.

  “Julian is analysing the plastic bags. Fragments of metal were found on the bodies, so we might learn something about the implements that were used. Oh — and they’d both been frozen prior to dumping. That signifies a large freezer. In fact this entire thing required plenty of space and no interruptions. So it’s safe to presume we’re not looking at a flat on the Hobfield, not with their tacky construction. And it’s another reason I don’t think this is drugs related. The only places the crew on the estate have got is their own flats. There’s little or no privacy. So we need to look further afield.”

  The pills, a breakthrough of sorts, presented them with another problem. There was only one GP practice in Leesworth and it had thousands of patients. Then there was the walk-in centre on the outskirts of Oldston that folk used out of hours, plus the ED at the hospital. The Aricept was their best bet.

  “Message for you, sir,” called out Joyce as he made his way back to the quiet of his office. “There’s a woman waiting to see you downstairs. She asked for you by name, says she has some information.”

  Ruth looked up from her desk. “Want me to come; another pair of ears?”

  “No, it’s okay. You get on. We need to make some headway on this. But you could give whoever’s watching Kelly Griggs’s flat a ring and see if she’s turned up yet.”

  Calladine pulled on his suit jacket as he bounded down the stairs to the reception area. A uniformed police officer was dealing with an irate man, who sounded drunk — trying to point out that it wasn’t police responsibility to dictate when the local shops closed.

  * * *

  “Miss Holden! I intend to arrange a press briefing for some time in the next two days. So I still can’t tell you much I’m afraid.”

  “That’s okay, Inspector.” She smiled. “I’ve told you before — call me Lydia. This time I’ve got some information for you.” She held up what looked like the front page of the following day’s Leesworth Echo.

  What Calladine saw made his blood run cold. She had it all: their names, every gory detail, from the severed digits to the remains left strewn across the common, as well as a description of the mark left behind by the perpetrator. Not only that, the newspaper had given him a name. It was the headline for the piece she’d written.

  Handy Man.

  Calladine shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t print that!” “Why not, Inspector? It’s all true, you know it is. I got this first-hand, excuse the pun.”

  “What do you mean? Where did you get this? Who gave you this information?”

  What Lydia Holden had done with the information was shocking. Surely she wouldn’t jeopardise the case by flaunting that — that horror — in front of the public. Leesworth would be in turmoil. There’d be panic and mayhem. “I got it from the man himself. Well, I presume it was him. It came via email. To my email address at the newspaper this morning, along with a snippet of film you might find interesting.”

  “You can’t print it. You can’t let that go out.”

  She was looking at him with a smug expression on her pretty face. The sort of expression he’d seen women use when they knew they had the upper hand and intended to use it.

  What the hell was going on? This wasn’t the usual behaviour of murderers. They usually craved anonymity, at least if they expected to get away with it. They certainly didn’t broadcast their misdemeanours to the press in glorious Technicolor!

  “Calm down, Tom. I can call you Tom, can’t I?”

  Her blue eyes were sparking with mischief. She watched him, the puzzlement in his eyes. How his expression softened slightly. Yes, she had him on the run. She ran a hand through her blonde hair, fluffing it over her shoulders.

  “Yes. But you still can’t publish that.”

  “I don’t intend to,” she admitted. “See, this is a mock-up
of what I could do. I don’t want you under any illusions, Detective. I want this story. I want access to all the details the minute you are free to release them. This is a big deal for me, and probably for you too. Tell me, Tom, when was the last time you had a serial killer in your sights? I’ve never reported a case like this before, and I don’t intend to mess it up, because it could be my ticket to bigger things.”

  “We don’t know he is a serial killer, not yet. He might just have wanted to rid the world of those two.”

  “We’ll see. We have to hope there are no more, but I bet you don’t believe there won’t be. Now, do you want to see this film?” She smiled, and handed him the sheet of newsprint. “Shall I come up to your office, and I’ll access it from your computer?”

  “Yes, yes, come up.” What was the use? She was going to get her own way regardless.

  He’d take her into his office, but he didn’t want her seeing the incident board. But then again — she knew everything they did anyway. She had it all neatly packaged on that damned front page.

  But why tell the press? And more particularly, why her? If their man wanted the police to know, then why not just tell him? It had to be the publicity. Whatever information Lydia Holden had, it wouldn’t help the case, he realised. The killed would have given her no more than they already knew — which wasn’t much. But he’d be hoping the gory detail would carry the story.

  “Show me.” Calladine had seated the reporter in front of his PC.

  Lydia tapped away for a few seconds, and then leaned back, allowing him to look at the long list of emails.

  She opened one of them.

  What Calladine read made his flesh crawl. It was all there. No embellishments. The names, the brutality, and where he’d left the body parts. But there were no clues as to who he might be, or where all this had taken place.

  “And the film?”

  She clicked on a link. “It doesn’t make good viewing, believe me, Tom. It’s horrific, but fortunately the youth is unconscious throughout.”

  The film was very dark and shaky, but the cutting of the fingers could be seen clearly enough. Each cut was made with what looked like a pair of secateurs, and the digits were left to drop onto the dirty floor.

  “Forward the email to me. I’ll get my people on it straight away.”

  He knocked on the partition window between his office and the incident room and beckoned Ruth to join them.

  “This is Lydia Holden from the Leesworth Echo. I don’t think you two have been formally introduced. Ruth Bayliss is my sergeant. We work closely together, so anything you divulge to me will be passed on to her.”

  Ruth smiled and nodded at the woman. Calladine could see her clocking the reporter’s expensive clothes and designer handbag. Lydia was lithe, tall and had gorgeous hair. Ruth wasn’t bad-looking or overweight — well not much — but she was probably borderline, and the clothes she wore did nothing to hide it.

  “Watch this,” Calladine instructed. “It’s definitely X-certificate I’m afraid; very much so.”

  Minutes later a much paler Ruth pushed the chair back from the desk.

  “We need to know where this came from, Ruth. I’ll forward it to you, then you can show it to Imogen.”

  “What we get will depend on how much the sender wants to hide. But between Imogen and our IT people, we’ll give it a go.”

  Calladine forwarded the email and then watched the gruesome clip once again.

  “I’ll get this cleaned up. We might see or hear something we can use.”

  “I’ll forward it to the lab.”

  Ruth made her way back to her desk in the incident room. Imogen had left, so there was no one to share the new information with.

  “I’d say I’d done you one very big favour, Detective.” Lydia gave him one of her devastating smiles. “I think I deserve a little reward, don’t you?”

  She was flirting. Calladine could hardly believe it, but she really was. What was going on? What could this lovely young woman want with him, an aging detective with relationship issues? He sighed. Who was he kidding? It was all about keeping up with the case. She’d already said it was important to her, and she couldn’t risk missing anything. She was going use him, and she was being blatant about it too.

  “What sort of reward?”

  “Well, we can start with dinner. You can come round to my apartment later and I’ll cook something. We don’t have to talk about this . . .” She waved a manicured hand. “I know it bothers you, but sooner or later you are going to have to talk to me. So we need to strike up some sort of relationship, don’t we, Detective? And I for one would prefer it was friendly.” She handed him her card. “That’s my personal card, the one with my private number and address on it. I’ll expect you at eight.”

  “We’ll eat. But I won’t change my mind about the case, and you need to understand that from the outset. I won’t be cajoled, or bribed or backed into a corner.” He looked down at the front page mock-up he still held in one hand. “I’ll need to keep this. You’ve captured the essence of that email very well. ‘Handy Man.’ Is that yours? Did you come up with that apt little title?”

  “No, not me. He did. It’s how he signed off the email, didn’t you see?”

  Chapter 11

  Malcolm Masheda held her close. It was dark in the alley that led to the side entrance of his block, and he’d chosen this spot deliberately.

  “You could come up with me, babe,” he told Cuba, as he fitted her with one of the earbuds from his mobile so that she could share his music. “My ma will go apeshit if I’m late.”

  “Damned tag — you should get it fixed.” She pulled out the earbud and poked his chest in annoyance. “You’re a good boy. Tell them you’ve changed; you’ve done the Community Service. Be a man, Mash, and stand up for your rights and get them to take it off.”

  “I can’t. My ma says I got to wait until they say.” He wanted to make Cuba happy. He loved her, but his mother wasn’t keen on the girl, and the rule that he had to be back under her roof by seven thirty, suited her just fine.

  “I have to live up there, with her. I have to do what she wants. It’s her place anyway. If I don’t do what she says, then she’ll throw me out. So for now I’ve got to live with this.” He flashed the tag attached to his leg. “I have to stay at home. It’s part of the deal, and anyway I don’t want to doss down on the deck. I’ll get a kicking.”

  “Gangs.” Cuba spat. “I hate this place and everyone in it. We can do better. We should leave here, now, tonight. Together.” She drew her head back and looked him straight in the eye. “What about it?” Her hands rested on her slim hips. “Are you up for it? Will you man up and break away with me?”

  Mash tried to laugh off her idea. But he knew from the look in her dark eyes that she meant it. His head and shoulders drooped. “I can’t.”

  He had to try and make it right. He wanted Cuba to be okay with what they had. For the time being, at least, it was all he could do. He kissed her hard.

  “You’re a disgrace,” she fired at him, once they’d separated. “You got no balls, bad boy.” With a smirk, she reached between his thighs.

  “Aw, man, don’t!”

  “We could go, you know. You can get that thing removed if you want to. You know people, just like I do, who’ll do it for nothing.”

  “I’m trying to be different. It was you said you wanted that. This place, this life, it’s no good. Things need to change and this is the first step.” He pulled her towards him again.

  “You’re so wrong, Mash. You’re wrong to stay and take it and you’ll pay. You’ll be made to pay. The others won’t let you change, you know that.”

  They were so wrapped up in their argument that neither of them heard the footsteps. They didn’t notice a third presence looming close in the dark. The quiet, purposeful footsteps edged closer; the man was pressed against the wall of the block. Mash was momentarily aware of the tall shadow on the wall beside them. He didn’t hear the cli
ck of the gun or the dull thud as the bullet entered Cuba’s back. Mash only realised something had happened when Cuba went limp in his arms.

  His grip on her body slackened, and she slithered to the floor like a rag doll. He saw that his hands were covered in her blood. He stared at them in disbelief. He looked around. Cuba was down on the cold concrete, still and bleeding; he had to help her. He knelt down, but she didn’t move. He moved his head close to her chest. Was she breathing? He couldn’t tell; his own heart was beating far too loud. There was another dull thud. Searing pain. Then everything went black.

  * * *

  “Detective! Welcome.” Lydia Holden held open the door.

  “You found me, then. You can park at the back.”

  “I got a taxi. Thought there might be drink involved?” The truth was he’d thought about more than just the drink. Calladine had agonised about coming here tonight. He was doing exactly what Ruth was doing — fraternising with a possible witness, and one from the press at that. What was wrong with him — he knew the rules? If Jones got wind of this he’d throw the book at him.

  “I was hoping you’d come. I would have been terribly disappointed if you’d cried off.” She rubbed his cheek gently with her hand. “You look wonderful. A veritable feast of maleness.”

  Calladine wasn’t sure what to make of that. For someone who was simply interested in getting a story, she was going to a lot of trouble. Perhaps he shouldn’t analyse it too much — gift horses and all that. It was just one of those things. It was possible that she did find him attractive — younger women did go for older men — quite often, in fact. Nah, who was he kidding?

  He followed her up a rather grand flight of stairs to her apartment on the first floor. She obviously lived in some style. The old mill building had been beautifully renovated. The newspaper business must pay better than he thought.

  “I nearly didn’t come tonight. I don’t go out with women I don’t know as a rule. I have someone in my life, and I’m not keen to upset things. And I have to ask myself why you’d be interested in me in the first place.” There, he thought — get it straight from the beginning.